


hold me closer tiny dancer

by countthestars



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blowjobs, Dancing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countthestars/pseuds/countthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dancing isn't really Harry's strong suit. Niall doesn't really care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hold me closer tiny dancer

**Author's Note:**

> [this happened](http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=SNHgyDT9bP8), so then i wrote 3k words of nonsense. sorry.
> 
> title from elton john's 'tiny dancer'

He gets the text just as he’s opening the door to the dance studio.

**_sry cnt make it feeln poorly xx_ **

Groaning to himself, Niall’s about to slip his mobile back in his pocket when it vibrates again in his hand. He swipes his thumb across the screen so the message shows.

**_u shuld still go theres no refunds on cancelations x_ **

He glares down at the text until the screen fades to black.  It’s not until someone coughs pointedly that Niall realizes he’s still standing in the doorway, letting the frosty winter air into the warm lobby.

A little sheepishly, he pockets his mobile and steps all the way inside. Some bloke he assumes is the receptionist shoots him an unimpressed look from behind the front desk.

“Er, sorry,” Niall starts. “I just found out my partner can’t make it?” He lets his voice trail off questioningly. He’s a bit out of his depth here and feels entirely inadequate.

The receptionist blinks slowly at him, the long sweep of his lashes disdainful. Niall would be a bit put out – really, is a polite smile too much in the name of customer service? – but, well. The receptionist is strikingly attractive. Niall’s always been a sucker for a pretty face.

“Which class were you signed up for, then?” the guy asks in a bored voice. “Ballroom dancing?”

Niall nods and the receptionist continues, “There are no refunds on same day cancelations, you know.”

He _knows_. Clearing his throat carefully, he says, “Can I still do the class if my partner isn’t here?”

The receptionist’s eyebrows shoot up to his carefully quiffed hair.

“What?” Niall huffs.

“Nothing, nothing.” The receptionist goes back to clacking away at his keyboard with an air of importance. “Just. We don’t get a lot of single blokes in here taking classes, is all.”

“You’re a bloke,” Niall points out.

The look Niall gets in return for that stunning observation is, quite frankly, offensive. He crosses his arms, muttering under his breath about rude receptionists.

Apparently not quiet enough, however, because the guy squawks indignantly. “I am _not_ a receptionist. Oh my god. Do I _look_ like a receptionist to you?”

Niall’s saved from answering when another fit bloke (seriously, is it some kind of requirement to be ridiculously good looking to work here?) comes through one of the doors leading to the rest of the studio.

“Zayn,” he admonishes, shooing him out from behind the front desk. “Why are you out here? Where’s Eleanor?” He shoots Niall an apologetic smile. His whole face is apologetic, really. Even his eyebrows. _Especially_ his eyebrows. Niall’s impressed in spite of himself.

“Please ignore Zayn. He’s not supposed to be out front,” Eyebrows says with an easy smile. “Are you here for the ballroom dancing class? We’ll be starting warm ups in 10 minutes.”

“His partner can’t make it,” Zayn says sullenly from where he’s slouched against the wall.

“Oh, but that’s perfect!” Eyebrows crows excitedly. “We had an odd amount sign up for the class. You can pair up!”

“Perfect,” Niall echoes. He doesn’t achieve quite the same level of enthusiasm as Eyebrows.

Zayn coughs into his fist and meets Niall’s gaze with a knowing smirk.

*

They’re 27 seconds from the start of class, not that Niall’s been watching the clock or anything. It’s just that he’s starting to regret agreeing to be Sean’s best man and honestly, everyone’s going to be so drunk by the time the reception starts that no one will notice if Niall steps on the maid of honor’s foot (except maybe the maid of honor, but she was smart enough to stay home and nurse her hangover after the bachelorette party instead of showing up for non-refundable dancing lessons. Niall’s not stupid, ‘feeling poorly,’ _honestly_ ) so, like. If his replacement partner doesn’t show up in the next, say, 12 seconds, Niall will just bugger off.

Maybe he can write the expense of the lesson off as a tax deduction. He’s not actually sure how taxes work.

He’s already edging towards the exit, a watchful eye on Eyebrows, who’d introduced himself enthusiastically to the class as Liam, their dance instructor, when someone bursts through the studio door and promptly trips, landing in a sprawl on the shiny hardwood floor.

The boy quickly scrambles to his feet, cheeks tinted red under a mop of disheveled hair as everyone in the room turns to look at him. “Uh, sorry,” he says in this slow, deep voice.

“You must be Harry!” Liam exclaims. Liam does most things excitedly, Niall’s beginning to notice. “Louis spoke very highly of you mate, glad you could make it.”

Liam walks over to pump Harry’s hand heartily and Zayn rolls his eyes before skulking off to fiddle with the sound system. Niall’s yet to figure out what, exactly, Zayn’s job is.

Harry and Liam are still exchanging pleasantries, gushing about Louis. A light bulb clicks on in Niall’s brain, then, at the familiar name. Louis is the wedding planner that offered Sean’s wedding party discounts for dancing lessons through the studio. Nice racket, that.

Then Liam is leading Harry over to him and wait a minute, Niall thinks, there is definitely a problem here.

“Niall’s partner couldn’t make it today, so you can pair up with him!”

Harry gives Niall this big smile, all straight white teeth and cavernous dimples, and Niall returns it with a weak one of his own. He holds out a hand for Niall to shake, and Niall doesn’t exactly have small hands, but Harry’s absolutely engulfs his.

He swallows thickly.

“Uh, Liam?”

“Yes?”

“Harry’s a bloke.”

“You’ve a real eye for gender indicators,” Zayn sniffs. Apparently he’s done fucking about with the stereo, then. Niall resists sticking his tongue out at him, but only just.

“I don’t – I mean, we’re _both_ blokes,” he says carefully. “How is this supposed ‘t work?”

Very deliberately, Zayn snakes his hand around Liam’s waist, the fingers of their left hands catching. Niall sees the flash of matching gold wedding bands and oh. _Oh_.

Liam’s eyebrows furrow in concern. “You said your partner couldn’t make it. I didn’t think there’d be any issue pairing up with Harry, here.” He pats Harry’s shoulder and Harry smiles charmingly.

“Yeah. My, er, _dance_ partner? ‘m the best man, she’s the maid of honor…” Niall trails off. He can feel his face absolutely flaming.

“Ah,” Liam says. Zayn looks murderous.

“If you have a _problem_ ,” he starts, but Niall cuts him off.

“Whoa, hold up, I really, _really_ don’t.” Niall licks his lips, resists the urge to cover his face in his hands. He thinks he can feel Zayn’s gaze scorching his skin. “I just need to be able to lead without stepping on anyone’s toes,” he finishes lamely.

“You can lead me!” Harry chirps. “I don’t mind a bit.”

“Excellent,” Liam says, clapping his hands together. “That’s settled, then.”

*

Liam’s dance partner turns out to be a beautiful girl named Danielle. Her legs are about a mile long and she and Liam make waltzing look effortless.

Zayn hovers by the stereo, stopping and starting the music at Liam’s cues. He spends the remainder of the time either smoldering into the distance or trying to kill Danielle with his eyes through sheer force of will. At least, that’s what it looks like from Niall’s angle.

Liam doesn’t seem to notice, too busy gracefully twirling Danielle and patiently correcting everyone’s steps. He has to spend an inordinate amount of time with Harry and Niall.

Harry is about as graceful at walking as he is dancing, which is to say, not at all. Despite his cheerful promise to let Niall lead, he forgets about every three steps and ends up trodding on Niall’s trainers.

And it’s not that Niall minds, exactly. They’re all beginners here, it’s to be expected that Harry will have a misstep or two (or seventeen).

It’s just. Every time he steps on Niall’s toe, they end up colliding together and Harry’s chest is really, _really_ solid. Toned, even. And then he’ll laugh breathlessly into Niall’s ear, whispering apologies into his skin until Niall is breaking out in goosebumps.

Niall’s honestly not sure how he’s supposed to hide the fact that he’s half hard with the way Harry keeps pressing up against him. He’s wearing _sweatpants_ , for fuck’s sake.

Harry, at least, seems completely oblivious to Niall’s discomfort. He’s got Niall’s hand in a tight grip, despite the way Niall’s palm has grown all sweaty. His other hand is resting lightly on Niall’s shoulder, thumb tracing soft circles over the fabric of his t-shirt as Niall leads them in a slow waltz.

In a change of pace, Harry knocks his knee into Niall’s, throwing him off balance. Niall flails only a little before he catches his balance and this time when Harry leans in to apologize, his bottom lip catches on the skin below Niall’s ear.

Niall closes his eyes, hopes that his flushed skin and racing pulse will be excused by the strenuous lesson.

The music shuts off abruptly and Liam calls out that they’ll be taking a five minute break.

Harry pulls back and winks – who _is_ this kid – at Niall. “’m gonna grab a bottle of water from the vending machine. You want anything?”

Niall has the vague feeling he’s being courted. Which is. Well.

“No,” he finally gets out, waving his hand in the general direction where everyone’s piled their things. “I brought a water bottle.”

“Clever lad,” Harry says before sauntering off. It’d be smooth, except he trips over absolutely nothing halfway across the room.

Niall muffles his laugh into his hand and quickly turns it into a cough when he catches Zayn’s eye. Zayn flicks his gaze between Niall and Harry’s retreating back before raising one silky brow at him.

Huffing indignantly, Niall turns on his heel and marches over to his water bottle. Honestly, what is it with these _boys_ and their _eyebrows_. He rips off the cap of the bottle, chugging down half the water in one go. It quenches his thirst, but does little to cool the heat curling low in his gut.

With his back to the room, he takes the opportunity to surreptitiously adjust himself.

He thinks maybe he can feel Zayn’s watchful eyes on him, but doesn’t turn around to check.

*

It’s not that Niall thought Harry would, like, magically acquire grace or even a sense of balance during the break. It would have been nice, though, if during the first half hour of the lesson he had improved on his ability to not step on Niall’s feet.

Niall’s about to say something, because there’re still 20 minutes left of the class and he’s honestly concerned that one his toenails might be bleeding, when Harry trips again and somehow manages to brush his crotch directly against Niall’s.

Harry is _blindingly_ hard.

Niall feels his breath catch in his throat, but Harry acts like nothing has happened, laughing softly and murmuring another apology into the shell of Niall’s ear. Niall barely suppresses a shudder at the sensation.

“’s all right,” he mutters, voice gruff, using the hand he has placed carefully on Harry’s slender waist to put a little distance between them. Or, more specifically, a little distance between their dicks.

Niall hasn’t come in his pants since he was a teenager desperately rutting off against someone’s thigh in the backseat of a car, but one brush of Harry’s dick has nearly got him undone. He’d be mortified if he wasn’t so turned on.

Harry leans in again and Niall tightens his grip on Harry’s hip. This time his lips brush Niall’s ear as he whispers, “twirl me.” Then he’s stepping back, raising their joined hands above his head and spinning in a sloppy circle.

“That’s the spirit, boys!” Liam cheers. Harry smiles crookedly at him, and it’s absolutely charming. Niall can’t help the little giggle that escapes.

Then Harry’s violently spinning back towards Niall, who winds up with his arm draped across Harry’s broad shoulders. “Dip me!” Harry orders, laughing breathlessly, and before Niall can react, he’s tipping himself backwards.

Niall tries to keep the dip under control, but Harry’s tall, is the thing, taller than Niall and all long, lanky limbs and zero coordination. It takes about three seconds before Harry loses his balance completely, despite Niall’s grip, flailing a bit before landing flat on his arse. Niall’s still got an arm wrapped around him and before he can extract himself, Harry’s pulled him down on top of him.

Harry throws his head back, giggling madly and wriggling about under Niall. Someone, Liam, he thinks, is asking if they’re okay, but Niall’s too busy smothering his laughter into Harry’s sweaty neck. He’s thinking he’s definitely _not_ going to be dipping anyone at the wedding – Sean will murder him if he crushes the maid of honor – when Harry wiggles his hips just so and suddenly Niall can feel the thick line of his cock pressed against his thigh.

The gasp he lets out in entirely involuntary as the laughter dies in his throat and he quickly scrambles off Harry.

Harry doesn’t seem too put out, just reaches out his hand for Niall to grasp and pull him to his feet. Once he’s steady, he doesn’t release Niall’s hand. His gaze is boring into Niall’s like his eyes hold the secret the universe. The collar of Niall’s shirt suddenly feels too constricting and he knows his neck is as flushed as his cheeks.

“You boys sure you’re all right?” Liam asks, all concern and eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Harry answers slowly, still studying Niall.

“Actually,” Niall says, clearing his throat. “I think maybe I need a breather. Mind if Harry and I step out for a minute?”

Harry doesn’t say anything, but tightens his grip on Niall’s hand.

“Of course,” Liam says easily. “Take your time!”

The words are barely out of Liam’s mouth before Niall is dragging Harry towards the door. He doesn’t look at Zayn, but he can _feel_ his smirk from across the room. It doesn’t matter, though, because in a moment they’re out of the studio and standing alone in the too-warm lobby.

Niall stops, then, hasn’t really thought this plan through. He shoots Harry a pleading look and hopes that Harry won’t make him _say_ it. The look must translate okay, because the corner of Harry’s stupid red mouth quirks up in a cheeky smile and he’s tugging Niall down the hall.

“Look, there’s a – yeah, I think that’s the bathroom,” Harry says, leading Niall past a clearly posted ‘employee’s only’ sign.

“Uh, Harry,” Niall starts, but Harry’s already tearing open the door and ushering Niall through.

It’s not a bathroom. It’s a broom cupboard.

Niall would object, but honestly, the cupboard’s probably cleaner than the bathroom, and besides, Harry’s not wasted any time; he’s got Niall pressed into the wall, his big hands framing Niall’s face, thumbs tracing the line of his jaw. His breath is ghosting over Niall’s mouth and Niall’s tongue darts out automatically, wetting his lips.

“I didn’t misread this situation, right?” Harry asks a little shakily. “Like, you do want to get off with me? Only, I’ve had some awkward moments in the past, right, where like—“

Niall cuts off Harry’s rambling by grabbing hold of his hips and grinding against him. Harry’s mouth falls open in a surprised ‘oh’ and then he’s grinning, pressing open mouthed kisses along Niall’s jaw until he reaches Niall’s mouth. Niall doesn’t know what to focus on, the delicious drag of Harry’s cock against his through the layers of their clothes or the way Harry’s sucking on his bottom lip.

Harry deepens the kiss, fucking his tongue into Niall’s mouth and Niall can’t quite stifle his groan. His hips are thrusting jerkily against Harry, but he can’t get enough friction until Harry slots a thigh between Niall’s legs. Then he’s rutting against Harry like a fucking teenager and it’s only slightly less humiliating that he’s about to come in a broom cupboard rather than the middle of a ballroom dancing lesson.

He’s close, so fucking close, when Harry pulls back without warning, hands still pinning Niall’s hips against the wall.

“Wha?” Niall asks intelligently, hands reaching out blindly for Harry’s shirt to pull him back in.

“No, wait, I wanna,” Harry pants out. “Wanna blow you, please, let me--”

_Yeah_ , Niall thinks. It takes a moment for his mouth to catch up, Harry’s pupils are blown wide and he’s just staring at Niall and right, he needs to say that out loud.

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice is wrecked already.

Harry’s dropping to his knees then with more grace than he displayed the entire lesson. Niall helps him shove his pants out of the way and then Harry is wrapping a big hand around Niall’s dick, mouthing at the head.

Niall lets his head fall back against the wall, lip bitten raw to keep quiet as Harry starts working up a rhythm. He does this thing with his tongue and Niall’s hips shoot forward, gagging him a little.

“Sorry,” he gasps out, but Harry is shushing him, pulling off long enough to mutter, “’s fine, I like it,” before swallowing him back down.

Niall swears and buries one of his hands in Harry’s sweaty curls, tugging a bit. Harry moans around his cock and that’s it, Niall can’t, can’t hold off anymore.

“Harry, ‘m gonna, _ahh_ , fuck!”

His hips jerk when he comes, but Harry doesn’t pull off, just swallows everything Niall gives him and keeps wanking him slowly through it. Niall’s knees give out then and he slumps the floor, arse still hanging out of his sweats. He’s a bit useless in his post-orgasm haze and it takes him a minute to realize that Harry’s got a hand around his own dick, fist jerking furiously.

“I could, ah,” Niall starts to offer, but then Harry’s leaning forward to bury his head in Niall’s neck, biting at his skin to stifle the sound as he comes all over his fist.

Harry flops backwards then, legs tangled with Niall’s as they catch their breath. The room smells like sex and Harry’s got a bit of come on his shirt.

Niall bursts into hysterical giggles.

“What?” Harry slurs from the ground. “Wasn’t that bad, was it?”

Niall lets himself tip over until he’s half on top of Harry, careful to avoid the sticky spot. “No, no,” he assures him. “You were brilliant.”

“Mmm,” Harry mumbles. “’m glad.” He wiggles a bit until he’s able to work an arm out from beneath Niall, then wraps it around his shoulder, tugging Niall into his side.

It’s enough to start Niall giggling again. “Are we having post-coital cuddles in a broom cupboard?”

“We could be if you’d quit laughing,” Harry grumps. He lifts his other hand, which is still messy with come, and reaches over as if he’s going to wipe it off on Niall.

Niall yelps and jumps up. “Mate, that’s disgusting!” He spots a roll of paper towels on the shelf - convenient, that - and chucks them at Harry’s head. “Clean yourself off, you barbarian.”

“Wasn’t a barbarian when I had your cock in my mouth, was I?” Harry mutters, but sits up and tears off a sheet to wipe his hand clean.

Niall glances towards the door. “You think the class is over?”

“Good chance, yeah,” Harry answers before looking at Niall a bit guiltily. “Uh. Sorry about the whole, you know, being an awful partner thing. Dancing isn’t really my strong suit.”

Niall shoots him an incredulous look. “Mate. You just gave me one of the best blow jobs of my life. Don’t worry about the dancing. Think we all know your strong suit.”

Harry beams at him. “What do you say to an encore performance, then? Say, my flat, in about fifteen minutes?”

“Can we have a proper cuddle afterwards? In a bed?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”

Niall grins.

*

They make it halfway across the lobby before Zayn stops them.

“Oi! Lads! You forgetting something?”

Niall and Harry exchange guilty looks.

“Um,” Niall says.

Zayn looks pointedly at the desk, where their coats are draped over the edge.

“Oh!” Harry exclaims. “Right. Coats. Winter. Cold, innit?” His cheeks are turning a charming shade of puce as he grabs them, shoving the wrong one at Niall. He puts it on anyway.

Zayn is watching them, amusement lighting up his pretty eyes. “You boys enjoy the lesson then?”

“Yeah,” Niall says distractedly. “Liam’s brilliant.”

“Isn’t he?” Zayn agrees, eyes gleaming wickedly. “Dancing’s really his _strong suit_.”

Harry lets out a bark of laughter before covering his mouth with his hand. Niall grabs him and drags him out the door, cackling madly and throwing a hasty apology over his shoulder.

Zayn’s warm laugh follows them out the door, but Niall can’t really feel the chill. Harry’s fingers are laced through his as he leads Niall home, humming a tune absentmindedly under his breath.

It’s not until later, when Niall is laying sweaty and fucked out in Harry’s bed, the sinking sun shining through the slats in the blinds that Niall places the tune.

Afternoon Delight.

He rolls towards Harry to bury his laugh in his shoulder. He’s got a lot to learn about Harry’s strong suits, he thinks.


End file.
